The Seduction of Harry Potter
by Monarchs of HG
Summary: Ginny Weasley finds a magical book. Harry Potter ends up getting seduced.


Untitled Document

A/N: We are two pretty well-known authors in the H/G fandom, astonished at the lack of good quality, well-written H/G smut. This is our first attempt at fixing that.

Disclaimer: We own nothing of the Potterverse, and are doing this for our own entertainment, not for money.

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**The Seduction of Harry Potter**

Ginny Weasley stared at the book on the shelf: _Spells to Capture Your One True Love_ by Julietta D'Amour. What was a book like that doing in the Hogwarts Library? Furthermore, what was it doing in the Restricted Section with all the books on potions? And why was Ginny fighting the urge to take it down and open it? Shaking her head mentally, Ginny went back to looking up the formula for her potions assignment. _Moste Potente Potions_ didn't have the formula she needed, neither did _Truth Serums: Truth or Dare_. At last, an old tome written in Anglo-Saxon held the needed formula for Snape's class. He had given each of them a dangerous potion to research, but not brew. Her assignment was to find a formula for _Veritaserum_ that didn't include dragon tears. Just as she was gathering up her things and placing the book back on the shelf--

"Ouch!" she cried rather loudly. Something hit her on the head. 

"Is there a problem Miss Weasley?" snapped Madam Pince, outraged that someone dared to make a noise above a whisper in her library.

"No, I just dropped a book," replied Ginny, absently rubbing her head where the book hit her. At least she thought it was a book. It looked like a book, although the cover to it was so old and dingy, covered with mold and mildew. Gingerly holding it by one end, she looked at the title: _Spells to Capture Your One True Love_ by Julietta D'Amour. She gasped, nearly dropping it. How could it have fallen on her head? It wasn't above her, it was on the same shelf as the potion books. There's no way it could have fallen on her, no way at all.

Cursing herself for being a fool, Ginny gathered up her things and went over to the nearest table and sat down. She couldn't explain it but she just simply _had_ to look at it; she wouldn't be able to rest until she had read it. She opened it to the first page.

_The Dance of True Love_

_This highly difficult dance, when performed correctly, will call your one true love to you. _

Below this there were complicated instructions listing the steps of the dance, the ideal place and time to perform it, and what the dancer must wear--including a spell to conjure the dancing costume. Mildly interested, Ginny flipped to the next spell, curious to see what it was. She flipped over to the next spell, and the next spell. _They're all the same spell_. There was only one spell listed in the book.

Not even pausing to wonder what the hell she was doing, Ginny got her things and placed the book on Madam Pince's desk.

"I'd like to check this out," she said, without a hint of embarrassment.

Madam Pince glanced at the book over her spectacles and then glanced at Ginny, who suddenly felt her face flame. What the hell was she doing, checking out a book on capturing one's true love? Had she gone mad?

Madam Pince simply opened the book, placed the borrower's slip inside and handed it back to Ginny, without so much as a blink. Ginny took it, amazed that the strict librarian wasn't going to say anything. Then Ginny happened to look at the cover again, noticing that the faded gold lettering had changed. There was nothing there, nothing at all. Frowning, Ginny opened up the book, inside were the words: _Potions: A Revised History_. 

"Wait, Madam Pince! There's been a mistake," Ginny said. How could she have picked up the wrong book?

"Yes, what is it Miss Weasley?" But before Ginny could answer, the lettering inside changed again: _Spells to Capture Your One True Love_. Ginny blinked. She flipped the book over to the cover again. It was there like she had seen it. 

"Miss Weasley?"

"Oh, sorry Madam Pince!" Ginny apologized hurriedly. "I just wasn't paying attention. Goodbye!"

And Ginny ran from the library, ignoring the protests of both Madam Pince and Filch, who was just outside.

**********************

The path into the forest was deserted, save for an eerie light that seemed to have no source. Well, it appeared to be deserted, but if one were able to see through Invisibility Cloaks or if one had a certain, very special map, one would know that the path was, in fact, not deserted at all. A young man of seventeen, with jet black hair and sparkling green eyes, was hidden beneath an Invisibility Cloak and was walking confidently down the path, the moonlight bright enough to see by.

Harry was outside for no particular reason, other than the fact that he was feeling restless. It was a strange feeling, like he knew he needed to be somewhere, but didn't know where exactly he needed to be. He'd tried to fight the feeling, but somehow the noise in the Gryffindor common room had become unbearable, the room itself felt stifling, confining. He needed to be outside, in the cool night air. 

It was a late spring evening and the sun had just set. A gentle breeze had started up, whistling its way through the trees, and stirring the pitch black hair of his fringe, revealing an unusual scar shaped like a lightning bolt. Harry unconsciously pulled his cloak tighter around himself--not from fear or a chill, but because the breeze threatened to whip the cloak from his body, exposing his torso to anyone that might happen by, if indeed someone was lurking about in the Forbidden Forest. On the breeze the chirping of crickets, the croaks of frogs, and a hundred other sounds associated with the creatures of the forest wafted to him. The combination of these sounds gave the air a vibrancy that spoke of spring--of cleansing, rebirth, of being alive.

But he was not concerned about this, relishing in his freedom from the castle, and in the refreshing night air. His thoughts, in fact, were occupied with the feeling that he was being pulled somewhere, so that he was rather inattentive to the journey, more intent on whatever his destination was. He paid little attention to the creatures of the forest, or the black velvet sky with its sparkling jewels, or the life that permeated the air, almost tangible in its potency. And then he heard the music. 

Well, this was unexpected. It couldn't hurt to go investigate. He followed the sound of the music, and as he got closer, he could definitely make out the exotic beat. It seemed primal, harking back to a time before civilization. It was almost as if it were meant to evoke base emotions like passion and lust. He was intrigued, his heart pounding so loudly that it seemed to be a part of the music itself. He followed the sounds drifting through the night air, his blood rushing just a little quicker through his veins with each step he took. There, through the trees, he spotted a flash of silver, before it disappeared again. He moved quicker, eager to sate his curiosity.

He found himself at the edge of a small clearing, in the center of which was a tall and lithe figure, which he was extremely certain was of the female persuasion. She, whoever she was, was clothed in sheer silver. Well, clothed may have been a stretch of words. It was more accurate to say that she had bits of sheer cloth placed in strategic areas, exposing a generous amount of pale, smooth flesh that made silk seem as chaffing and uncomfortable as a potato sack. The urge to run his hands over such bare skin was overwhelming, and it took a considerable amount of restraint to stay still. He was being pulled towards her, and he had to grip onto the tree near him to fight the lure of the graceful figure before him.

She was dancing. Her limbs moved gracefully in time to the music, and her delicate hands and fingers glided through the air, matching the overlying melody she was humming. He watched her hips sway gently, the silver cloth caressing the smooth skin as it flowed over her like water. He was quite sure it was the most erotic and surreal thing he'd ever seen. In fact, he was painfully aware that it was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. And he didn't even know who she was. Her face and hair were covered by a piece of silver cloth, and he couldn't quite see her eyes. Yet, he felt there was something familiar about her. He was quite certain she was a student--and an older one at that--but beyond that, he had no idea.

He continued to watch her, unable to tear his eyes away. He was fascinated by the flexibility she demonstrated, lifting her legs to places Harry was quite sure the leg was never meant to go. The dancer kept dancing, and Harry was caught in this temptress' spell like a moth to a flame. His eyes roved her body, watching as it twisted and turned, flashes of flesh and silver causing him to feel shaky with desire. So entranced he was that for the second time that night, he was unaware of his surroundings. None of it mattered, just the woman dancing.

Harry had to fight the urge to go to her, it was all he could do to stand frozen, clutching onto the tree as if his life depended on it. The music was in his blood, the call of it was so powerful, so enchanting, that it took every ounce of self-control he had to keep perfectly still--lest he be discovered. He'd tried to turn away, close his eyes, do anything that would break the spell cast over him--nothing worked. With every moment that passed, another chain of need wound around him, pulling him towards her. He wasn't going to be able to fight it much longer.

Suddenly, it seemed as if the dance was over before it had hardly begun. She finished smoothly, and then glided into a standing position. When she stopped, he felt the magic release him. He could now move freely. But Harry did not move, eager to see whom this seductress was. As if in slow motion, the young woman reached to her face and pulled the sheer bit of silver off, freeing her face and her hair, which she shook out slowly. Her hair was flame red and long and oh so thick. It seemed to tumble from the top of her head, glide over her shoulders, and flow down her back to her waist as molten magma down a volcano.

It began to dawn on Harry, once he saw the color of her hair, and the deep brown of her eyes, who had just turned him into a metaphorical puddle on the forest floor. _Ginny Weasley_, he thought dreamily. _Ginny Weasley_, there was a vague sense of worry, but he could still hear the music, and see the way her body deftly performed movements that had previously seemed impossible. _Ginny_. _Weasley_. As in, related to Ron Weasley, his best friend. As in, the small child he had saved from the Chamber of Secrets in his second year. As in, so very wrong. His desire turned to horror at about the same speed that it takes a golden Snitch to flit out of sight. 

His finely tuned survival instinct took over as he realized she was headed back to the castle, which meant that she was going to bump into him if he didn't leave--NOW. Jerking himself away from the tree, he decided that his best bet was to just turn tail and flee back to the castle, and forget this had ever happened.

His mind was made up, and his body began to comply. He turned as quickly as he could while remaining quiet, and began making a run for it. He was promptly stopped in his tracks a few steps later as he felt a tug on his Cloak. He glanced back, and realized that the Cloak must be caught on a branch of the tree he'd been leaning against. 

Desperately, as though a man about to drown, he felt for the Cloak and tried to free it from the tree. He glanced up in the process of trying to delicately unhook it and saw that Ginny had frozen in her tracks, just three feet away. Harry saw the confusion and fear in her eyes, and heard it in her voice. "Hello? Is anybody there?"

He was beginning to panic. If she started walking towards him, she would bump into him and then that would open up a whole jar of newts that he didn't even want to think about. She took a step forward, her eyes large as she looked around her. She kept moving closer and with each step she took, he could feel his panic increase exponentially. By the time she had come within a foot of him, he was desperately trying to control his breathing. He gave a mighty wrench, having forgone trying not to snag the material in his haste, and finally felt the Cloak give way. Narrowly avoiding crashing to the ground, he quickly straightened and then began to sprint towards the castle as rapidly and as quietly as he could. He ran all the way back, never stopping, and never turning around.

**********************

Ginny stared at her homework and sighed. She just couldn't concentrate. She kept thinking about that night a week ago when she had tried that spell. That stupid, stupid spell. Unconsciously, she turned her head slightly and saw what had become the bane of her existence for the last week--_Spells to Capture Your One True Love_ by Julietta D'Amour. What a joke! Feeling tears prick the back of her eyes, she blinked, fighting the urge to cry--something Ginny did not do. It was inexplicable, how sure she was about that spell having worked. _I just **know** someone was there_. Someone had stood very close to her, she had felt his heavy breathing stir the air between them. He had been there. But why didn't he come to her? That's what he should have done, according to the book. She looked over at the ancient tome, as if it could somehow provide more answers. 

In a fit of fury, Ginny had taken it back to the library the day after she had tried the spell. That evening it had turned up sitting on her bed, the faded gold lettering winking up at her, mocking her. No matter how she tried to rid herself of that damn book, it still stayed in her possession, following her around everywhere. It was always the first book she pulled out of her book bag, and always on her bed.

Impulsively, she grabbed the book and idly leafed through it. She knew this could be some sort of prank, some joke perhaps left over by the twins when they had graduated. Even worse, it could be Dark Magic. Ginny shook her head. No, that was wrong. She knew it was for real, there was some sort of power in it. Perhaps she had performed the spell incorrectly. Rereading the spell, mentally checking off the steps as she went, she noticed a new line of text at the bottom of the page. Text that had not been there before.

_This spell may need to be performed more than once._

This gave Ginny pause. _Maybe that's why it didn't work_. Or, maybe it had, and her true love had incredible self-restraint. Totally against her will, her eyes drifted to the cluster of chairs by the fire, where Ron, Hermione, and Harry were doing their homework. For an instant, she could've sworn that Harry was looking at her, but when she blinked again, his head was down and his eyes were on his parchment. She shook her head. She was allowing all of her hopes to cloud the issue. Glancing back down at the book, she gave a mental shrug. _Well, what could it hurt to try one more time? And if it doesn't work this time, I'll just toss this monstrosity into the lake_. 

Thus resolved, she stood and gathered her things, wanting to get this over with. But--just her luck--her quill fell to the ground. With a sigh, she bent over and grabbed it.

WHAM!

Startled, she straightened and glanced around the room. Her eyes fell on Harry, who seemed to have knocked his book to the ground. He was in the process of retrieving it, and Ginny was sure she saw a slight flush crawl up his face. Ron and Hermione were staring at him, and he gave them a sheepish grin before he turned his attention back to his book. Ginny wrote the whole thing off--even though she'd always thought Harry looked adorable with that expression on his face--and trudged up to her dorm to get ready.

**********************

_That was bloody brilliant. Real smooth_. Harry felt a flush creep up his cheeks, and he could feel Ron and Hermione staring at him, but he ignored them and stared determinedly down at his book. He wasn't really looking at it, though. He was thinking about her. Again. Ever since that night in the forest a week ago, she'd been haunting him, a phantom that had taken up permanent residence in his mind. At first, he'd been horrified by his thoughts--the way he had begun to fantasize about her, wondering what it would be like to hold her, to run his fingers through her crimson tresses, over her ivory smooth skin, what it would be like to kiss her . . . . But attraction and desire had quickly overridden his horror. And now, every time he thought about her, he felt in desperate need of a dip in the lake.

It was getting out of hand. Now, whenever he was in the same room with her, he would watch her. He'd memorized the way she bit her lip and her brow furrowed when she was concentrating, and how--whenever she was lost in thought--she unconsciously twirled a piece of fiery red hair around her left index finger.

To make matters worse, she didn't seem to pay him any mind. He'd noticed that over the last week she'd seemed preoccupied by something, almost as if she were trying to solve some complex problem. He could barely be in the same room with her without doing an uncanny impression of Neville Longbottom and--to Harry's consternation--she'd hardly glanced in his direction. The irony wasn't lost on him._How typical. I can't think of anything but her, and I'd bet all the gold in Gringotts that she doesn't think about me at all._ He managed not to sigh, though he certainly felt like doing so. It had been a very trying week, and it wasn't over yet. The scene he'd just caused was testament to that. She'd merely leaned over to grab a quill, and the firelight had shone a certain way on her hair and he'd been so flustered and aroused by it that he'd knocked over his book. As if that weren't humiliating enough, all the Gryffindors in the room--including his two best friends and the minx who'd been the cause of most of his problems this week--had turned to stare at him and wonder when he'd become such a klutz. It was enough to make him want to crawl into his bed and never come out. Toying with that idea for a second, he at least thought it would be a good time to retire for the night. She had already gone.

******************

Harry laid in his bed, frowning up at the bed drapes. He couldn't sleep. What was worse was that he now had the same urge to go outside again, out into the forest. Just like he had that night. He rolled over, blowing out a long breath of frustration. That strange magic he had felt previously was stronger than ever, and he was powerless to fight it. He had to go.

Not bothering with clothing, shoes, or the invisibility cloak, Harry crept outside, shivering when the brisk night air swept through the thin cotton pajamas he wore. As he neared the forest he could make out the sound of the drum beat, although this time, he was fairly certain it was coming from within him. He could feel it.

Like the last time, Harry was unaware of his surroundings, so focused was he on what--who--would be waiting for him. The blood roaring through his veins, throbbing the primal beat, eclipsing the sound of the nighttime animals and insects. Ignoring the scratches left on his arms by the low-hanging tree branches, Harry walked on, not feeling the pain of the sharp rocks cutting the soles of his bare feet.

At last! The clearing was in sight! The magic was so powerful, there was no thought in stopping his path towards her. She was there, just as she was the first time, dancing. Harry's breath came out in pants, evident in the crisp air, nearly fogging up his glasses. He knew the dance by heart now; he'd seen it so often in his dreams. The dance was ending, just as he came up behind her, his breath stirring the silver veil that hid her fiery locks. She turned, lips curving into a smile that could only be described as seductive.

Harry opened his mouth, to apologize for disturbing her, to demand that she continue dancing. The only sound that escaped however was a small gasp as her mouth suddenly covered his. His hands automatically wound themselves into her hair, scattering the silver veil that fell unnoticed to the ground. Her hands were as busy as his own were and Harry barely heard the slight popping noise as his buttons were ripped from their buttonholes.

He managed to pull back for a second, trying to regain his senses. This was crazy, insane. He wanted nothing more than to be inside of her, watch her eyes widen as he filled her, feel her soft gasps of pleasure against his lips as he drove them both to completion. Harry stared at her for a moment, summoning up the courage to stop, but one look at her eyes--those beautiful coffee colored orbs, the pupils dilated with desire--and he knew there would be no stopping him.

He covered her mouth with his, tasting her, experiencing her. An explosion was occurring within him and he began to feel lightheaded as his blood raced south, and his eardrums nearly burst with the sound. The rest of the world was quickly disappearing, and there was only this incredibly desirable woman in his arms. Instinct had taken over, and his hands roamed over her scantily clad body, trying desperately to feel, to know, every part of her. 

Somehow, and he really wasn't sure how, they'd ended up on the ground. The combination of her warm body, and the cool night air was sending shivers of pleasure up and down his spine. Later, he'd recall with awe that he seemed to know exactly what to do, despite the fact that he'd never had that kind of experience before. He'd known that the little hollow between her clavicles was particularly sensitive, and that rubbing her rib cage tickled her and caused her to giggle in a "come-hither" kind of way. He'd somehow known where she liked to be touched and caressed, and that she was an especially vocal lover. And--he discovered with a certain amount of awe--he loved every moan, every time she shouted his name, every touch and every kiss. He knew, as they rested together in the cool grass, that he would never get tired of the way her eyes darkened with desire, or the way her skin felt against his. He would never get tired of it because it was uniquely Ginny, and he couldn't imagine it being any other way. 

********************************

Much later, Ginny rested in the crook of his arms, loving the feel of him against her, completely, everywhere. He was so beautiful, his hair was tousled from her fingers, his long eyelashes forming black crescents on his cheeks. She couldn't keep the smile from curving her lips, the knowing smile that her plan had worked. The spell had worked. He was hers.

It was funny how the magic took over her, once he was there. There was no unease, no nervousness, no confusion. Nothing but pleasure existed between them. Ginny felt herself blush at the sounds he had wrung from her, at the fact that there was not a place on her body that he didn't know intimately. Unable to help herself, her hands began to wander over his torso, fascinated at the ripple of muscles as they bunched and corded at her touch. Her lips soon followed the path her hands took.

"Ginny?" At his husky whisper, she raised her head, her eyes meeting his clear green ones.

"Hmmm?" She replied, placing a slow kiss in the center of his chest. She slid up his body, very slowly, watching his eyes dilate until only a green band remained and his breath was uneasy.

"You seduced me." It wasn't a question.

She replied anyway. "Yes," she said against his lips.

"Thank you," he whispered, just before pulling her to him and kissing her deeply.  



End file.
